The Worlds of Arthur Staaz

circus

One day, you will go to the circus. Not a circus with clowns or trapeze artists. No side shows or dancing horses. There will be no performers. Or, more properly, you will be the only performer, even as you sit in the deserted bleachers waiting for the show to begin.

One day, you will go to the circus. A chill breeze from infinitely far away will blow through a fluttering tent flap while circulating shadows congregate in the peaks where the tall poles disappear beyond all light. Your apprehension will grow.

One day, you will go to the circus. You will wonder what has become of the jugglers, animal acts, and acrobats. As the cold wind gusts over the roof of the tent, the fabric thudding ominously, you will wonder what is outside. You will wonder if there is anything.

One day, you will go to the circus. You will wonder how the constant, ever-blowing wind does not begin to tear through the big top. The thought will come to you, I should leave, go home. Find some place, any place familiar. But you won’t. You can’t.

One day, you will go to the circus. And the circus, though seeming never to have begun, will, in reality, never end. You will realize there is nothing outside and that you are alone and will forever remain that way. The shadows far above you will draw closer, whispering. Hear them whisper even now